Author's Note: Alas, this is probably the last Wicked fic I will write--sadly, that also means I will doubtfully finish any other chapter fics I'm currently writing. Sorry, if anyone happened to like them.

The scene idea was taken from Billy Elliot (musical). There's a song called Expressing Yourself, so feel free to look that up. :D And, if you're interested in the show, then you PM me and I'll hook you up, my friend. Alright? Lot of love, I've had many good times writing in this section, and I'll miss it. I'm just not . . . interested in this show much anymore.

Please review and tell me if you liked it. I hope you like it. . . . I had a lot of fun writing it. . . . .

But, without further ado, the Wicked version of the much-loved (by me) cross-dressing scene!:

I'd always thought that being a man meant acting manly, looking manly, smelling manly—but I never knew that by not looking manly made you feel. . . .

"What in good Oz's name are you doing?"

I looked up from the drawer I'd had my head poked in and almost fainted. But, Ozma, if I was going to be myself, I had better begin now, keeping my head held high and my chin out—like a real man.

"Dressing up," I said confidently.

Boq stared a moment, quiet, and kept hisr face blank. Then, he suddenly became animated again, taking a quick breath. "But. . . ."

"Yes?" I said stiffly.

"Fiyero, those are Galinda's clothes."

"Yes, I am . . . quite aware, thank you."

He took another breath and a couple of blinks before responding. "But. . . ."

I waved a hand. "Say what you must—please feel free."

"Why, pray tell?"

I had to think a moment. "I . . . feel powerful . . . in this clothing."

"In a fluffy pink skirt and blue collar shirt that are far from matching?"

"Yes, I rather do."

He surveyed my outfit momentarily, and the whole air of the room turned unbearably awkward. I spent a moment looking around before deciding to play it casually. Super causally, as if this wasn't anything too odd. As if all the manliest men in the world put on women's clothing.

"Hey, do you want a go at it?"

Boq's eyes widened. "No thanks; really. I'm fine . . . clothed . . . in these clothes."

"Oh, come on." I climbed up on the small step-ladder so that I could rummage through Galinda's huge dresser. I was thankful that she and Elphaba were currently on an all-day trip to The Emerald City. I pulled out three separate dresses and held them up to Boq's face.

"Fiyero—"

"Oh, shut up, will you?"

Frowning, I held up the first dress. It was bright blue. "Hmm; not quite."

Boq opened his mouth to say something, but I held up the next, comparing it to his skin color. "Oz's piss, that's . . . hideous. . . ."

"Oz's piss?"

"Shut," I commanded. The next one was a winner, so I grinned, and told him, "Hold this."

Boq stared at the skirt in his hands with obvious distaste.

"Put it on, then!" I called, now sifting through more clothing.

"But-but," he grimaced, "I don't like it."

I turned around slowly. "Put the damn dress on, man!" Boq continued to grimace, but he did as he was told. Well, he pulled the skirt over his pants, which wasn't exactly what I had wanted.

"Drop your drawers."

"What?" He looked honestly frightened.

"Your pants, you idiot. You can't have a skirt over pants. You look trashy."

Boq looked down at his pants. "They'll wrinkle."

I shrugged and turned around, still standing on the step-ladder. I could hear Boq grumble and curse quietly while he pulled off his pants, leaving him in a knee-length dark blue skirt with a floral pattern. I glanced back, studied him a moment, then turned to Galinda's closet once more.

From behind me, Boq cleared his throat. "Um, Fiyero?"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering if you liked Galinda—I mean, if she's not taken. I just. . . ."

"Galinda's nice, sure," I said, concentrating on the clothes, "but if you want a shot with her, Boq, go ahead."

Boq almost choked on his own spit. I made a face, and was thankful he couldn't see it.

"Really?"

"Um, go ahead."

"But . . . seriously?"

I sighed, aggravated and turned around once more with a scowl on my face. "Boq, go ahead. For Oz's sake."

"But you always seemed like you liked her!"

I held my hands open in confusion. "She's not like my one true love, you dipstick." I paused. "But I don't know if she'd want to get, um, with you—she's a bit picky." I pivoted around again, not exactly wishing to see the look on his face.

"What?"

"I just don't think she likes you. And, if she turns you down, Boq, the whole campus will know."

"Why should I care?"

"Hahahahaha! You're s-serious!" I had to hang on the door of Galinda's wardrobe, and it's surprising that I didn't snap it off. "You're so stupid! Hahahahaha!"

Innocent confusion lined Boq's face and he waited for my explanation. I jumped off of the step-ladder, my skirt swirling nicely and strode over to wear he was standing. I then grabbed him by the forearms rather aggressively.

"Boq, if Galinda doesn't like you and she turns you down you will be made fun of for the rest of your days at this school."

"Um, so . . . do you think I should . . . ask her out?"

I frowned and walked over to Galinda's mirror where she kept all of her hair and make-up stuff. I stuffed a head band on top of my head—it had a large, fake pink flower on top of it. I swirled around and crossed my arms. "I wouldn't if I were you; people will think you're mental!"

Boq laughed nervously as if he thought I was joking—the jerk—and messed with his hair, fluffing it up even more than it was.

"You're the one dressing up in Galinda's clothing."

I made a face. "So are you."

Boq glowered, but his face softened after a moment, although he still looked slightly confused. "Do you do this all of the time, Fiyero?"

I grinned. "Every now and then."

"Um, doesn't anyone get, um . . . ?"

"You mean: have I been caught?"

"Yeah," he agreed tersely.

I smirked again. "No, I haven't, Boq, but I don't think my dad would mind if he found me—he does this all the time."

Boq quite literally fell over this time. I had to help him up.

"You're father dresses up in . . . ?"

I stared at him, wondering if I'd told too much. "Yes, but only when he thinks no one's home. So maybe he would mind. I wouldn't know, then, I guess."

"Fiyero," Boq said seriously, "you're not . . . gay, are you?"

I snorted. "What gave you that impression?"

"What straight man dresses up in some girl's clothing?" he asked loudly.

"But this is Galinda!" I protested even more loudly, and grabbed his arm as he made for the door. "We're good friends; she wouldn't mind—but please take the skirt off if you're leaving."

Boq sighed amazingly loudly and gave me such a dirty look that I let go of his arm.

"Fiyero." Boq raised his eyebrows.

I threw my arms up. "There is nothing wrong with dressing up in women's clothing! What can I say to make you see that?"

"Show me one straight man that dresses up in women's clothing," he said darkly.

"My father."

"Really?"

"Well, he had me with mom, didn't he?"

"That doesn't mean—"

"I should be able to express myself however I wish!" I yelled, attempting to end the discussion once and for all. "Dressing up in lace and satin and whatever the Hell is within the bowels of Galinda's closet should be alright for both men and women!" I stubbornly sat at Galinda's mirror and took out her brightest lipstick—blood red. "Will anyone die if I put on a friggin' dress! I think not! We need individuality in the world—a little expressive creativity!" I banged my fist on the wood. "What the Hell's wrong with being who I want to be, huh!" I applied the lipstick, smacked my lips and beamed. "Oz, that looks sexy!"

Boq shuffled his feet timidly, and fiddled with the skirt he was wearing. "Hey, may I try some of that?"

I tossed it over to him. He put it on and looked in the mirror as well. "Woah."

"You look gorgeous," I said mockingly, and pushed him over. Hypocrite.